The Birthday That Changed Everything

by Debbie Johnson

  ‘Mum, just listen!’ she said, loudly – in the tone I associate with a potential escalation in violence. It was the same way she said ‘Die, fuckers, die!’ when she killed wasps with streams of hairspray.

  ‘I’m talking sense here. And you’re always going on about wanting us to be friends.’

  ‘No I’m not. I said that once when you were fourteen and you threw an ashtray at my head. I’m happy with our distance. I prefer remembering you when you were seven. Look, I’m forty years old, Lucy. I think I know a thing or two about sex.’

  ‘Okay, maybe you used to be a bit of a slapper when you were younger, but let’s face it, you’ve been Mrs Mouse for the last God-knows-how-many years. And if you’d pay a bit of attention and listen to the subtext,’ she said this with the assumed superiority of an A level English student, ‘you’d see that what I’m trying to fucking do is let you know we’re all right with it – with you and James. Me and Ollie both think he’s okay, as old men go.’

  ‘He’s forty-three, for Christ’s sake! But, well, thanks…I think,’ I said. ‘But you know, Luce, nothing’s happened anyway…not much. Nothing full-on. Just a bit of snogging and a bit of feeling. Nothing I’d need condoms for.’

  Lucy screwed up her face and threw her hands over her ears. ‘I’m not listening! Tra la la la!’ she said, ‘and I was only fucking kidding when I said I wanted to talk about it – don’t make me chuck by telling me the gross details, that’s TMI!’

  ‘Well, what about you and Max?’ I asked, as soon as her hands were back down. I should have asked ages ago but I was afraid of the answer.

  ‘What about me and Max? Are you asking me if we’re having sexual intercourse, Mother?’ I felt myself blushing bright red.

  ‘Well, that’s none of your frigging business, is it? I’m seventeen, I can shag whoever the fuck I want to. But if we are at it, believe me I know all about how babies are made, and how you catch chlamydia, and when to take the morning-after pill, if that puts your sordid mind at rest. And I bet that’s a lot more than you know – there are probably STDs out there now that didn’t even exist last time you had sex!’

  She flounced off, spinning her golden hair behind her like a supernova. I was left sitting on the bar stool, wondering if she was right, and whether I should sign up for a sex-education class for middle-aged born-again virgins. And as for all that experience I’d allegedly gained while I was a young slapper, in reality I’d only ever slept with two-and-a-half men.

  One was my boyfriend Lee, who I went out with when I was eighteen. We’d lost our virginity together in the back of his dad’s fruit and veg van, parked up by Anfield – not on match day, I might add. At university there was Archie, the heart-throb captain of the rugby team, for one night only after a yard-of-ale contest. But he’d had such a bad case of brewer’s droop it’d been like trying to straddle a willie made of Play-Doh, so I count him as the half.

  Then, of course, there was Simon, whose super-fit sperm wasted no time at all swimming up to my ovaries, saying ‘Hey, how you doing?’ Not an impressive tally, really.

  ‘That sounded like an interesting conversation,’ said Jenny, who’d arrived a couple of hours ago with Ian. She’d already been for a bike ride and done a yoga class. The cow. I forgave her when I saw she was drinking pints of lager to offset the damage.

  ‘Yes. It was. If your idea of interesting is abuse and humiliation. My daughter just tried to fill me in on the birds and the bees. How are you, anyway?’

  ‘Great!’ she said, her usual answer – I’d never met anybody so unswervingly cheerful. I knew from talking to Allie that she’d been having surgery that year, to try and improve her fertility, so it seemed unlikely that she felt as cheerful as she sounded.

  ‘Really?’ I asked, meeting her eyes, and noticing a slight tremble in the hand that was holding her beer.

  ‘Well, maybe not that great,’ she replied, her eyes filling up a little. ‘In all honesty, Sally, it’s been a shit of a year. When we first met you, we were coming to terms with the diagnosis – severe endometriosis. At first we just tried to accept it, but neither of us was happy giving up. So this has been the Year of the Cyst Removal, which is about as much fun as it sounds.

  ‘We’ve seen loads of specialists, but nobody seems to know what’s going on – and whether I can have kids or not. Believe me we’ve been trying – but, so far, nothing. And no answers at all.’

  I recalled from my dim and distant past training that endometriosis often affected fertility in mysterious ways. Not, of course, that that was any help at all to Jenny, who was now swiping tears from her eyes to stop them spilling on to her cheeks.

  I reached out and touched her hand, wanting to let her know it was okay.

  ‘And I’m sure the uncertainty isn’t helping anything, is it?’ I asked.

  ‘No! That’s the thing – every time we have sex, we have no idea if it’s worked, or if it’s pointless, or if we should try and adopt or…God, I’m sorry to cry on you, I know it’s pathetic, but it all just makes me feel like such a failure as a woman!’

  ‘Jenny, sweetheart,’ I said, heart breaking for her. ‘You mustn’t see yourself like that. I’m sure Ian doesn’t. And it’s all right to get upset about it – that’s what friends are for. Any time you want to talk, any time at all, just come and find me. We’ll go for a walk, or a drink, or go and start a fight in a bar if you feel like it…whatever you want.’

  She squeezed my hand back, and managed a smile.

  ‘Thanks, Sally,’ she said. ‘I really appreciate that. Ian and I just can’t talk about it any more; it’s like it’s taken over our whole lives. He’s so stressed. Anyway. We’re here. On holiday – and whatever else is going on, I’m going to at least try and enjoy myself.’

  I nodded, patting her hand as I saw Ian wandering over towards us. She was right – he looked as though he’d aged ten years in the one since I’d last seen him. The poor loves.

  As well as Ian and Jenny, Rick and Marcia had also arrived at the Blue Bay. Marcia had assumed her usual position, regally drinking cocktails and smoking the occasional Gauloise cigarette in a Marlene Dietrich style. Rick was buzzing about like a firefly, catching up with everyone, and making the acquaintance of the brand-new waiter, Hakan.

  Hakan couldn’t have been older than twenty-one, and had a smile so big and dazzling it could have stopped warring nations in their tracks. Seriously. It was impossible not to feel really, really good about yourself whenever he looked at you. Rick, wearing a fluorescent orange muscle top and a pair of white linen trousers, was clearly feeling really, really good about Hakan as well. He was following him around the restaurant, helping him collect in plates and giggling at his every word. Crikey – that was trouble in the making.

  Marcia didn’t seem to be reacting at all, but I wondered if she was going to wander over and stub her Gauloise out in his eye at some stage. Of all of the Blue-Bayers, she was the one who still remained the most mysterious. Even though she seemed to be drunk pretty much all the time, she never gave much away when she was in her cups.

  James had been down at the beach with Jake and his new friend Matthew, whose parents were here for the first time, collecting driftwood. The kids were ecstatic to be up so late and trailed back after him barefoot, carrying piles of twigs, clumps of seaweed and an old whisky bottle.

  James had his trouser legs rolled up and his face was covered in smudges of sand. He gave me a wink as he passed by. Yum. Against the odds I managed to stay upright.

  ‘Off for an early night, Sally…busy day tomorrow.’

  Double yum, with a side helping of nerves – I wondered if there actually was a condom machine here…

  Chapter 28

  ‘Did you bring any condoms?’ I said to James the minute we tied up the boat.

  ‘What?’ he said, laughing. ‘Where’s the romance in that, you beast? Can’t we even eat lunch first? You won’t respect me if I give in too soon!’

  ‘Sorry. I’m nervous
.’

  ‘Well don’t be. It’s not like having a tooth pulled out. Relax and enjoy the day. There’s no kids, no people, no noise – just us. Nothing’s going to happen that you don’t want to happen.’

  That, of course, was the problem – there was all sorts of stuff I did want to happen. Stuff we’d talked about while holding the phone with one hand. Stuff I’d never done before and ached to try with him. But I was scared witless and focusing on the practicalities to distract myself.

  James had made good on his promise from last year and taken me out on a bigger boat. Some kind of speedy affair with an engine. He’d brought us over to a tiny island an hour away, which was, he assured me, always totally deserted.

  He’d packed a picnic hamper. He’d remembered blankets and towels and booze and bottles of water. He’d brought himself, dressed only in a pair of black swimming trunks. He’d thought of everything. So surely he’d have remembered the condoms?

  All I’d brought to the party, on the other hand, was a tense silence and a packet of mints. I’d been chewing on my lip so hard in the night it was bleeding. Ollie had asked if I’d been eating glass at breakfast, and Lucy smiled like a snake and mouthed the word ‘gonorrhoea’ over the coffee pot. I dropped my cup, I was so jumpy.

  I hadn’t been able to enjoy the journey at all, even though part of my brain recognised how beautiful it had been. The island itself was perfect – no buildings, no people, just a hill in the middle surrounded by a fringe of sandy beach so fine and soft your feet sank into it, warming your toes.

  James threw down the blanket, opened the hamper, and pulled out a bottle of chilled champagne. It couldn’t have been nicer if he’d scattered rose petals on the ground and coated himself in chocolate.

  ‘Drink this,’ he said, passing me a glass, ‘you look bloody terrified. Would you prefer to go back to the hotel and call me on your mobile instead? Come on, what’s the problem?’

  ‘Oh fuck. I’m sorry, James – you’ve made all this effort and I’m acting like an idiot. I’m just…a bit freaked out. I’ve hardly ever slept with anyone at all compared to you, and not with anybody for ages, and only with Simon really, and…well, maybe I’ve forgotten what to do. Or maybe I’ll be rubbish at it and you’ll be disappointed. And what about all those STDs that are out there these days?’

  He shook his head, took a deep breath in and whistled it back out in a lengthy sigh. He rubbed his hands through his hair like he always does when he’s frustrated or upset. It’s a gesture I’ve seen a few too many times – I can’t be good for his mental health.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, after he’d gathered his thoughts, ‘let’s go through that list one at a time, because you’re clearly not going to rest until we have.

  ‘First up, yes, I’ve slept with a lot of women, I’m not going to lie about that. I haven’t kept count but it’s more than a few. But guess what? There is a plus side – I’ve picked up some tips along the way. As for not having sex for ages, neither have I. For just over a year, in fact. Which, dimwit, was when I met you.’

  ‘What about your subs’ bench?’ I bleated, hardly daring to believe what I was hearing. I suppose I’d categorised James as my fantasy man, and Simon as real life – and part of my current anxiety was based on James moving into reality, before I was even divorced from Simon.

  ‘I retired it. I was too busy talking dirty to you every weekend. My body has remained pure for twelve whole months. And I’m pretty sure you haven’t forgotten what to do – if you have, I’ll give you a few lessons to bring you up to date. Now, saving the best for last, all those STDs…what a lovely thought. You really know how to capture the moment, don’t you?

  ‘I don’t have any, end of story – I got tested for everything when Jake came along, and I’ve been careful ever since. Baby-making, though, is a different matter – still fully loaded on that front. Okay, little Miss Practical – your turn.’

  ‘Erm…nothing to declare on the disease front, which is nice, isn’t it? And probably not on the baby-making front at the moment as I’ve still got one of those coil doo-dahs in. Sorry about all this James…it just felt so easy when you were—’

  ‘In another country?’

  ‘Um…yes. Am I a complete nightmare? Do you want to go back?’

  ‘Yes, you are a complete nightmare, and no, I don’t want to go back. What I want to do is to shut up, lie down in this sunshine, and enjoy being here with you. We have a whole day together, during which we don’t need to have sex, if you’re so stressed about it. In fact, let’s not.’

  He shoved a T-shirt under his head as a makeshift pillow and stretched himself out on the blanket. He was still wet from splashing on to the beach and mooring the boat, and as he lay back tiny droplets of sea water trailed through the light hair on his thighs and calves. His chest was wide and hard and golden. He crossed his arms above his head and closed his eyes. His biceps were rippling, and his mouth relaxed into a hint of a smile.

  I couldn’t help noticing as he lay there that those trunks were quite small. And tight. And there were still parts of him I hadn’t seen and would really quite like to.

  I sat and stared for a while. I was starting to feel a little hot. Some of it was because of the sun. Some of it was because of the big slab of perfect lying there in front of me. I looked at the hill. Then at him. I looked at the sea. Then at him. I looked at the boat. Then at him.

  Eventually, looking just wasn’t enough. I finished the champagne, snapped off my bikini top, and climbed on top of him.

  ‘I knew that’d work…’ he said, then opened his ice-blue eyes. They almost fell out of his head when he saw what I was wearing, or wasn’t, and I felt an instant and very gratifying response in the trouser department.

  ‘Bloody hell…I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,’ he said, stroking the sides of my thighs and hips, circling his hands up to my waist, where his fingers fluttered tantalisingly short of anything too rude. He edged slowly upwards, tracing the lower curve of my breast, then down again.

  I could feel his hard outline beneath me, in exactly the right place to be sending sparks all through my body. I slowly moved my hips back and forwards, shamelessly using his hard-on to pleasure myself with. James groaned and arched upwards slightly, before grabbing my arms and pulling me down on to his chest. He rolled me over so I was lying on my back, spreading my legs with his until the length of him was between my thighs.

  He stroked my hair back off my face and traced the outline of my lips with his fingers. I darted my tongue out to lick them. He nuzzled the side of my neck, kissed me hard, then pulled back, laughing.

  ‘Let’s slow this down. We have all day. And don’t forget – no sex. Not proper sex, anyway.’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I said. ‘I want to have sex. And I want it right now.’

  I wrapped my thighs around his back and tried to lever him down, but he resisted.

  ‘No. I’m going to make you wait. You deserve it for being such a nightmare. Now just stay still, I want to look at you…’

  He couldn’t have said anything scarier if he’d tried. It was a real Hammer House of Horror moment. Look at me? Like this? On my back, in daylight? My boobs are fine when I’m upright – but lying down there is a slow roll to the hills, it has to be said. And then there’s the stretch marks. And the flabby bump on the front of my tummy. And those bits of cellulite on my thighs…

  This was the body that Simon had lost interest in. The body he’d left for a younger, tighter one. So far, James had done nothing to make me believe he found me anything other than sexy – but still…

  ‘Stop it,’ he said quickly. ‘I know what you’re thinking, and you need to stop thinking it. You look beautiful to me, so relax and let me do all the things I’ve been wanting to do to you since we met.’

  He leaned forward and kissed my left breast, teasing the nipple until it was rigid, then taking it into his mouth and gently sucking. His hand worked on the other, squeezing and teasing until I
was desperate for him to get to that one too. I arched my back and held his head down to get as much of myself into him as I could, feeling dizzy with the unfamiliar sensations shooting in a direct line from my boobs to other places. God, who knew? I’d always thought of breasts as fun for the boys, but the way he was treating them was driving me crazy.

  He pulled his head away, looking down at me hazily, holding one in each hand and rolling my nipples between his thumb and forefinger. There was a slight edge of pain, swamped in the pleasure. He made a noise low in his throat and his groin was pressed hard into mine.

  He circled both nipples with his tongue once more, then moved his head further down, slowly licking and kissing his way to my stomach. I knew where this was heading and it was going to be good. I’d forgotten about the stretch marks and flabby bits by then, as I felt his fingers start to work over the fabric of my bikini bottoms, slowly stroking the moist groove between my legs.

  He lifted away from me long enough to pull my pants down and over my ankles, then went back to my tummy, working his way lower and lower until he was almost exactly where I wanted him to be. He kissed the inside of my thighs, his breath warm and intimate, driving me insane. He paused, using his fingers to spread me wide, as I wriggled around impatiently, desperate to feel his mouth on me.

  When I did, it was electric. He licked the nub of me, slowly and deliberately, in long, steady strokes until I couldn’t keep still. He held my hips down with his hands, and carried on teasing me until I thought I might scream. He moved his tongue at a faster pace, until I finally shook and juddered and jerked and yes, probably screamed as well. I swear I almost blacked out, it felt so good – my body had no energy left to think or breathe or stay conscious. I’d never, ever experienced anything like it, and I couldn’t move for a minute afterwards as the aftershocks rocked through me.